


Someone Save My Soul Tonight

by kcracken



Series: OTP Prompt Vignettes [3]
Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy, My Chemical Romance, Panic! at the Disco, Twenty One Pilots
Genre: Anxiety, Brotherly Love, Bullying, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, M/M, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-18
Updated: 2014-08-18
Packaged: 2018-02-13 15:27:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2155638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kcracken/pseuds/kcracken
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Six vignettes based on an OTP prompt: hurt/comfort.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Someone Save My Soul Tonight

**Author's Note:**

> I don't have one true OTP. These are a few of my favorites. Friendships and brotherly love help out those who are hurting.

**Spencer/Jon**

 

Spencer just broke his fourth pair of sticks today. And they were just rehearsing! Thank _God_ they were making money, because he could probably create a whole fucking forest with all the drum sticks he broke. He tossed the broken sticks behind him and reached into his pouch for another set. Unfortunately, the pouch was empty. Fuck. He stood and barely refrained from kicking his snare over. “I need a break,” he announced to whoever was listening, which he figured was no one, and exited the room.

Once the door closed behind him, he kicked one of the folding chairs that were in the hall. He turned his hands over to look at the palms. They were an angry red, his calluses blistering from all the playing he’d done lately. Well fuck. It seemed that last pair of sticks splintered, too. He had a rather long, nasty piece of wood stuck in his thumb.

Just as he was about to pull the offending piece out of his hand, the door opened. He quickly put his hands behind his back, which just made him hiss in pain. The worst part wasn’t the pain; it was who came out to check on him. “You okay, Spence?” Jon asked when he saw him. “I noticed you broke another stick. Dude, I’ve _never_ seen a drummer go through as many sticks as you…” He paused because he’d noticed the look on Spencer’s face. 

“I’m fine,” Spencer muttered. He could feel his face beginning to flush. Fuck. He did _not_ want Jon to see that he was blushing. He turned around and began walking away, clutching his hand to his chest since his back was to Jon now.

Jon had also noticed the tone of Spencer’s voice, and his body language which told him many things. He also saw a couple of red drops on the floor beneath where he’d been standing. Before Spencer could take more than a few steps, Jon was beside him. “What happened?” He reached out to take Spencer’s hand.

“Ah! No!” Spencer screamed as he desperately tried to pull away.

Jon’s eyes widened. “Jesus fuck, dude! You have a splinter the size of Montana in your hand!” He held Spencer’s hand gently. “We’re going to need something to get that out, then something to disinfect the wound…”

“I can do it myself,” Spencer said, trying to keep his voice even, but it was cracking. His eyes were tearing up from the pain now. It wasn’t just the splinter, but his busted blisters hurt like fuck, too. 

Jon took his other hand and turned it over. “No. You can’t. You’ve got open blisters. What the hell, dude? Why didn’t you say anything?”

At that point, Spencer just lost it. He could take care of himself, but not when people were yelling at him. “ _You_ try and get something in edgewise around Ryan and Brendon!” he screamed. “They won’t shut the fuck up long enough to listen to anyone except themselves!”

Jon blinked, looking at him in shock. The sudden outburst explained a lot. It explained Spencer’s distance; his overwhelming _need_ to keep track of Ryan and Brendon at all times, to protect his friends and the band at all costs, the tenseness that was constantly in the boy’s shoulders. Spencer was the youngest of all of them, five months younger than Brendon. He really shouldn’t have that kind of weight on him at that age. He wasn’t even twenty yet!

Moving his hands up to Spencer’s shoulders, Jon gripped them firmly to look him in the eyes. “You aren’t alone, Spencer. I know you think _you_ have to take care of them because _they_ can’t take care of themselves. _You’re_ the one with the stable childhood. _You’re_ the one who has always supported Ryan and now you have Brendon to look after. Well, I’m here now. I’m here to help, not only play bass. You are _not_ alone.”

Spencer inhaled sharply, his body stiff. He wasn’t sure if he could believe what Jon was saying. Maybe they were destined to always lose their bassist. Brent had been an asshole. The least he could have done was actually _tell_ them he didn’t want this anymore. But no, he had to just stop making it to concerts, stop making it to practice, piss everyone off and be a complete dick. Jon hadn’t been a dick yet. He’d stepped in immediately, thanks to William. And despite the fact that that he was a great bassist and a good person, he might throw them under the bridge, too. Spencer couldn’t risk that.

It was as if Jon could tell exactly what was going through his mind. The next thing he said was, “I’m not Brent. I will never be Brent. I _want_ to play with you guys. I _want_ to go on tour. _I want this_.”

Spencer was having trouble keeping from doing some of the things that suddenly went through his mind. He bit hard on the inside of his cheek and nodded. Looking down at his hands, he noticed the bleeding has mostly stopped. He took a deep breath and said, “Would you please help me with this splinter? And, like, help me clean up a bit? I really can’t let them see me like this.” His voice was soft and quiet, almost like a scared child.

“Of course,” Jon said with a smile. “Come on. I’ll go find a first aid kit and you can get started washing off the hand without the splinter.”

They started walking off towards the bathroom. As they got to the door, Spencer turned towards Jon. “Thanks,” he said honestly.

“You’re always welcome,” Jon replied, patting him on the shoulder before heading off to find a first aid kit.

\------------------------------------------

**Tyler/Josh**

 

Tyler crawled into his bunk when they got back on the bus. The concert had been unreal! So many kids singing back the words to his songs. But that wasn’t what had him curling up into a ball. That was the good part.

What was bothering him was how many kids had told him that they understood his lyrics, how those lyrics helped them get through tough times. Knowing that they had been through some of the same things he had gone through really hurt him even more. He wrapped his arms around his legs as he pulled his knees to his chin. It felt like a burden on him that he had to save all these kids. And what about the ones who _didn’t_ listen to their music? How could he help them?

“Wow, that was incredible, wasn’t it, Ty?” Josh said as he walked through to his bunk, a huge smile on his face. “The crowd was on…” He stopped when he saw Tyler in his bunk. Something had triggered the other man’s anxiety. There was only one thing to do. Josh crawled into his best friend’s bunk and wrapped his arms around him. 

Tyler pushed back into Josh’s embrace. He didn’t say anything, just soaked in his friend’s warmth and compassion. He wasn’t sure if he should say anything about what he was thinking. 

After a while, Tyler relaxed a little and Josh asked. “What’s wrong, Tyler? What got you upset?”

Tyler sighed. He had to tell him, because if he didn’t, it’d just fester and he’d get upset again and again after every show. “These kids… these kids that are saying that our music saved them, that they understand where I’m coming from with the lyrics… they’re, like, barely teenagers, Josh! They’re too _young_ to understand my lyrics. They’re too _young_ to have issues like that!”

Oh, so that was it. Josh tightened his arms around Tyler. “But at least you’re helping them.”

“But what about the ones who don’t listen to our music?!”

Josh breathed deeply, thinking of an answer for Tyler. It took a moment, but he came up with something he thought might actually calm his friend. “Then you need to tell the kids _you’re_ helping to get out there and help someone else. Write a song or say it in an interview. You know how much they listen to you, to what you say and what you sing.”

Tyler thought about what Josh said. Could he get the Skeleton Clique to help others? Would they even listen to him? If he wrote a song, they might do it. If he mentioned it in an interview, they might listen. “Do you think that would work?”

“You’ll never know until you try.”

Josh was right. That was what he lived by. “You’ll never know until you try,” he repeated, letting it sink into his brain. “Yeah, you’re right. I’ve got to try, just like I want them to try.”

“Exactly.” Josh smiled, glad that Tyler was going to give it a shot. He knew that his friend had enough influence to get the kids to help each other.

\------------------------------------------

**Spencer/Ryan**

 

Spencer sat in the dark looking at his phone. He wasn’t even sure how long it had been since he’d talked to his mom. She’d called to tell him that his father… Fuck, he couldn’t even think about it. He was just about to throw his phone across the bus when it rang. Brow furrowed, Spencer looked at the number flashing on the screen. He didn’t recognize the number, but the area code was LA. He chewed on his lip, debating on answering.

The ringing stopped and he breathed deeply. He didn’t really want to talk to anyone right now. No, that wasn’t really true. He _wanted_ to talk to his dad, to make sure he was okay, but his mom had said he was sleeping. His dad wasn’t okay, either. Tears pricked the corners of his eyes. Wiping them away angrily, his phone began ringing again.

It was the same number. Obviously it was someone who desperately wanted to speak with him. He accepted the call reluctantly, wondering just who it was. “Hello?”

“Spence?”

His eyes widened almost comically. “Ry?” he questioned back. It certainly sounded like his former best friend who had deserted Brendon and him.

There was a grateful sigh on the other end of the line. “Fuck, dude, I’m glad you answered. How are you doing?”

Spencer was confused. Why was Ryan calling him? They hadn’t talked in two years. What the fuck did he care how he was doing? “What?”

“Jackie called me, Spence.”

Oh.

“Are you okay? You guys are at XFest in Modesto, right? Are you flying home tonight?”

Fuck. 

“Um, Ryan… thanks for calling and all, but…”

“Spencer.” Ryan interrupted him. His voice sounded like he was twelve again. It reminded Spencer of all the times Ryan would show up at his house at all hours of the morning after his dad would show up drunk. “Your parents were more like parents to me than my own.”

“I know, Ry.” Spencer didn’t know what else to say. 

“I’ll come pick you up. Or you can fly and I’ll meet you in Vegas, or even at LA. Spencer, I really do care.”

There was a long pause and then a deep sigh from Spencer. He had already been looking at flights. The closest airport was in Merced and his flight would take about 4 hours. Ryan could get to Vegas in that time. “Meet me in Vegas. I’ll get a flight out from here. I’ll… I’ll text you my flight info.”

“Seriously?” Ryan sounded surprised that he’d agreed.

“Yeah. I think I could use a familiar face.” Spencer couldn’t help but smile. It would be really nice to see Ryan again.

“Okay. I’ll see you there, Spence. Everything’s going to be okay.” 

Spencer hated how optimistic Ryan sounded. Surprisingly, though, it did make him feel better. “Thanks.” He paused for a moment, expecting Ryan to hang up, but he never heard it. “Hey, Ry?”

“Yeah, Spence?”

“I really mean it. Thanks.”

“You know I’d do anything for you.”

\------------------------------------------

**Ryan/Brendon**

 

“Do you need a ride home?” Ryan asked Brendon as he put away his guitar. Ginger had just come downstairs to let them know their practice time was up.

“Yeah, no, I’m good,” Brendon mumbled, keeping his head turned away from the other boy. 

“Dude, it’s no problem. It’s not like I want to go home either.” Ryan put his guitar over in the corner behind Spencer’s drums. Brent had already cut out, leaving before the words were even out of Spencer’s mom’s mouth. 

“No, I’ve got it,” Brendon said again as he grabbed his guitar and headed out of the house without another word.

Ryan looked at Spencer with a furrowed brow. His friend just shrugged back at him. He had no idea what was up with Brendon. He’d been quiet and reserved for weeks now, like he had been when he first started playing with them, though this had lasted even longer.

“You wanna stay the night?” Spencer asked, but he already knew what the answer was going to be. He just wanted Ryan to admit it.

Ryan shook his head. “Nah, I think I’ll just go…” He motioned towards the door with his head. 

“Yeah, because that wasn’t suspicious at all with him not even looking at us.” Spencer stuffed his sticks in his bag. “You both can come back here if you want.”

Ryan looked at his friend for a moment, considering. He nodded and headed out to his car. Car was a loose term for what he drove. It probably was going to fall apart soon, but he didn’t care. It was his. It took three times to turn the engine over, but it finally roared to life. He backed out of the Smith’s driveway and started heading towards Brendon’s house.

He drove slowly so he wouldn’t miss Brendon if he was really walking all the way home. It wasn’t long before he saw the younger boy standing at the bus stop on the corner near Spencer’s house. Slowing down (and cringing at how badly his brakes sounded), he rolled down his window to talk to Brendon. “Hey, you don’t have to wait out here. I’ll give you a ride.”

Brendon had been too busy pacing to notice Ryan’s approach. His mind was way too occupied. He jumped when he heard his voice. “N-no,” he replied. “I’m okay. The bus is just running late.”

“Look, you know how notoriously unreliable the busses are at this time of night. Come on, I’ll get you home well before your curfew and your parents will love me forever.” Ryan grinned, trying to make Brendon relax.

Only it didn’t work. Brendon flinched when Ryan mentioned his parents. He stopped and turned towards the car. “I… I _can’t_ , Ryan. Just… just leave me alone.”

Ryan frowned. He put the car in park and got out, grabbed Brendon’s guitar and put it in the back seat carefully despite the smaller boy’s protests. “Get in the fucking car, Bren. You aren’t going to sit out here for God knows how long for a stupid ass bus when I can take you wherever you need to go.”

“But I…” Brendon began, but stopped when he heard what Ryan had said. He sighed and lowered his head. “Okay.” He went around to get in the passenger seat.

Ryan waited for Brendon to get in the car and get settled before he got in and started driving down the road. “Which way?” he asked quietly.

“Turn left on Elm,” the younger boy mumbled.

They rode is mostly silence, Brendon giving directions the only break in the quiet. Ryan’s frown grew deeper the further he drove. They were not in the best part of town. There were old, dilapidated buildings on every corner. Brendon made him stop in front of one of them, which happened to be an apartment building. 

Ryan looked over at Brendon after he came to a stop outside the building. He wanted to ask, wanted to say “what the fuck, Brendon?” But he didn’t. He just watched Brendon looking down at his hands which he was wringing. He couldn’t stand the silence, so he asked, “Are you living here, Bren?”

That seemed to make the other boy realize where they were, and Brendon quickly undid his seat belt, jumping out of the car. He reached in the back and grabbed his guitar before slamming the car door and nearly running to the front of the building. “Thanks, Ry. See you later.” He didn’t even turn back to see if Ryan was still sitting there. 

When he got to the door of the building, he fumbled with his keys, trying to get it into the lock so he could get as far away from Ryan as possible. He didn’t want him to know anything. He didn’t want him to see where he was living now. The keys slipped from his hand and hit the concrete steps. “Fuck.”

Ryan was confused. He turned off the car and got out to follow Brendon to the door. He watched the younger boy trying to stick a key that obviously didn’t fit in the lock. When the keys hit the ground, he bent down and picked them up. “Which key is it?” he asked as he flicked through the dozen keys on the chain. 

Brendon stared at him wide eyed. “Why are you still here? I thought you would have just left.”

“You’re acting really weird, Brendon. Spencer’s worried about you.” Ryan handed Brendon the keys and leaned back against the brick rail that went up to the door. He crossed his arms over his chest. Yes, he may have lied a little and said that only Spencer was worried about Brendon. He wasn’t about to admit that _he_ was worried.

Brendon snatched the keys from Ryan’s hands. “Then why didn’t _Spencer_ come after me.”

Ryan rolled his eyes. “Because I was already heading out and he asked me to check on you.”

“Liar,” Brendon muttered as he unlocked the door. He went through without waiting on Ryan. Going straight up the stairs to the fourth floor, he headed for his crappy little hole in the wall that he called a place to sleep between school, practice and work. No, he didn’t call it home, because it wasn’t. It never would be.

He dropped his guitar by the door and went to get a CapriSun out of the refrigerator. It wasn’t very cold, but it was wet. That’s all that mattered.

“Do you want to explain?”

Brendon nearly dropped the pouch of fruity water. He hadn’t exactly expected Ryan to follow him _into_ this hell hole. Instead of answering, he slammed the refrigerator door closed and went to collapse on the mattress that was on the floor on the other side of the room. That’s all the place was anyway, one room with a little kitchen and a bathroom. It was all he could afford.

He had sucked all of the juice from the pouch before he realized that Ryan was still there. In fact, the other boy was sitting on his bed in front of him with his long legs awkwardly crossed. “Why are you still _here_?” he demanded again.

“You already asked that question,” Ryan retorted softly. He was chewing on his bottom lip, distracting the fuck out of Brendon now. “Now _I’d_ like an explanation.”

Brendon closed his eyes, mostly to get the vision of Ryan chewing on his lip out of his head, which wasn’t working, fuck, and sighed deeply. “My parents threw me out because I told them I don’t want to go to college or on my mission.”

There was a slight pause before Ryan replied. “Wow. That’s rough. Kicking your son out for a religious decision.”

“You know how much my dad believes in Mormonism.” Brendon tossed the drink pouch towards the trash can. It missed, but he really didn’t care. He curled up on the mattress and tried to get under the cover. “Now if you don’t mind, I have to work early tomorrow morning so I can afford to live in this hell hole.”

Ryan didn’t move. Now he was _really_ worried about Brendon. He didn’t say anything as he curled up behind Brendon on top of the covers and wrapped his arms around the younger boy. He could feel him shaking, but he didn’t know why.

They laid like that for a few minutes before Brendon finally spoke, his voice small and breaking. “Why are you still here?”

Ryan thought before he spoke this time, taking a deep breath and releasing it slowly. “Because despite how I might react most of the time, I really do care, Brendon.”

Brendon’s mind felt like it was going to explode from Ryan’s admission. Ryan cared about him. Turning to face the other boy, he wrapped his arms around his waist tightly. “Thank you,” he whispered against Ryan’s chest as he buried his head against it.

Ryan didn’t reply, just tightened his arms around Brendon and waited for him to fall asleep.

\------------------------------------------

**Mikey/Gerard**

 

Fuck this fucking place and its fucking haunted rooms!

Michael stood looking at his reflection in the mirror, only _his_ reflection. He wouldn’t look elsewhere in the mirror because he was afraid he might see one of the _other_ residents of the Paramour Mansion. He fucking hated that Gerard had chosen a fucking _haunted mansion_ to record their darkest record to date.

He hadn’t slept in, what, five days? This place had pulled every bad thing he’d locked away in his mind back out and shoved it all in his face. He couldn’t close his eyes without the demons screaming at him. And he had a _lot_ of demons. It had to be because he was a Way. All of the Ways had to fight inner demons. More than once, obviously. 

Picking up the bottle of Jack that was beside him, he took a long drink. Sitting the bottle back on the toilet seat, he trailed his eyes over to the blade sitting on the sink. The bright steel glistening in the pale light was a stark contrast to the bright white porcelain of the counter. He’d snuck it out of Ray’s shaving kit. Why their lead guitarist still used a single blade razor, he had no clue. 

This part wasn’t unknown to him. He’d done this before. Turning his wrist over, he traced the faded scars with his long, pale fingers. The scars went across his wrist in straight lines. Back then he was desperate for attention. Not today, though. Today he was going to go “up the river”. He was going to make sure it counted this time. He couldn’t take the voices that were constantly telling him what a fuck up he was. He was going to silence them.

As he put his hand over the razor to pick it up, there was a knock on the door. “Hey Mikes, are you in there? We’ve got an idea on one of the songs and really need you to come help.”

Jesus FUCK. Of all the people… He could ignore everyone else, but not Gerard. “Go away, Gee,” Mikey choked out eventually.

There was a pause and then Gerard said quietly, “Mikey? Are you okay?”

“Just go away. I can’t…” He stopped, because a sob caught in his throat.

Gerard rattled the handle, but the door was firmly locked. Mikey prayed that his brother would just leave. His eyes had filled with tears and he could hardly see even his reflection now. After a few more minutes of silence, he breathed a sigh of relief, reaching for the blade again.

***THUMP***

Mikey looked at the door. There was no way that Gerard was trying to bust down the door. He’d be crying already. His brother was not the strongest person he knew.

***THUMP***

Oh. This time there was the sound of splintering wood. He could see the wall beside the door give a little.

***WHAM***

The door flew open, wood splitting around the lock on both the wall and the door. The door slammed against the wall and Mikey could make out Ray stepping back so Gerard could rush into the room. Mikey threw his arms up to protect himself from the onslaught he knew was coming. He collapsed on the floor and started crying. 

“Fuck,” Gerard muttered. He pushed the blade off the counter and into the trash. He saw the bottle of whiskey was half empty and frowned. Dropping to his knees, he wrapped his arms around his baby brother. “It’s okay, Mikey. I’m here. I’ll get you through this, I promise.”

Mikey had wrapped his arms around his legs, curled up in a ball. “No, Gee. Go away. I have to do this. I have to make it stop!”

“Stop what?” Gerard asked in as calm a voice as he could. Internally he was totally freaking out trying to figure out what was making Mikey so desperate to do something like this.

“The voices. They won’t stop. It’s this fucking place. I can’t be here anymore.”

There was another pause before Mikey felt Gerard pulling him to his feet. Gerard wrapped his arms around him and guided him out of the bathroom and down the hall. They stopped briefly and Mikey thought he heard Gerard talking to someone. Hearing Ray say “got it” and then the larger man’s footsteps moving away was confirmation. 

Once they got into Gerard’s room, the older brother pulled his younger brother on the bed and lay down with him. “It’s gonna be okay, Mikey,” Gerard said soothingly as he petted Mikey’s hair. “Brian’ll be here soon. He’ll know what to do. I promise it’ll be okay.”

Finally relaxing, Mikey slowly fell asleep knowing that his brother was right. It would be okay.

\------------------------------------------

**Patrick/Joe**

 

Joe ran into the Borders and headed directly for the dark corner where he normally hung out with Patrick. He couldn’t wait to tell him the news. Pete had agreed to let Patrick try out for the band! As he rounded the corner, he skid to a stop in front of his friend and plopped down on the floor in front of him, dropping his backpack beside him. “Dude, I have, like, the best news ever.”

Usually at this point, Patrick would put down whatever book he was reading, be it a classic novel, a trashy pulp fiction, or a musician’s biography, and give Joe his full attention. Not today. In fact, he had the book up even further, almost covering his entire face. All that was visible was the boy’s hat above the top of the book.

Joe tilted his head and looked at the book. Patrick was reading Guitar for Dummies. While that wasn’t extremely unusual, it was a little weird. Patrick was awesome at guitar. Not as good as he was, but his friend tended to pick up an instrument and immediately play it. “Yo, Pat, don’t you want to know what the news is?” When he got no reply, he laughed and reached to push the book down from his friend’s face. “C’mon, Pat, do you not have your glasses on? Even _I_ know you don’t need to read…”

Joe paused because _holy shit_ that was some fucking shiner Patrick was sporting. The _slightly_ older boy’s left eye was black and blue and purple and _green_. “Fuck, Patrick, what the fuck happened?” He reached forward to touch just the edge of the injury, but Patrick flinched. 

“Leave it alone, Joe,” Patrick said with a resigned voice. “It’s not like you can do anything about it.” He reached up to pull the brim of his hat down further and sank more into himself.

Joe sat back and looked at his friend again. He knew about the bullies. Patrick was not only smart, but he was a band geek _and_ a total nerd. “Shit, dude. You need to get some ice on that, like, pronto. Trust me, I know.”

“Where the _fuck_ am I supposed to get ice without someone actually _seeing_ me?” Patrick glared as much as he could with only one eye. “It’s not like I want to go home with this either,” he muttered as he looked back down at his shoes.

Joe sighed and looked around. An idea came to him rather quickly and he jumped up. “I’ll be right back,” he said as he took off through the bookstore.

“I’ll be right here,” Patrick said sarcastically to his retreating form.

Joe made his way to the little café that was in the store. There wasn’t anyone else around, really. At this time of day, it was mostly moms with little kids and maybe a few older people. He got the attention of the girl working and smiled his biggest grin. “Hey, um, do you have, like, a little bag or something I could get some ice in? My friend… he, uh, he fell and his ankle is, like, swelling up huge and stuff.”

The girl looked at him with concern and immediately nodded. “Yeah, sure. Let me just find something.” She went to the back and found one of the ziplock bags they used to put the leftover pastries in the scooped it half full of ice. “Here. If you need more ice, just come back.” She handed him the bag and he smiled again.

“Thanks. You’re a life saver.” He winked at her and headed back to the secluded corner where not even the geeky employees liked to go. Opening his book bag, he shuffled through looking for something. When he found it, he pulled out his gym shirt and grabbed his knife from his back pocket. He flipped open the blade and began cutting on the sleeve.

“What are you doing?” Patrick asked curiously. He had placed the Guitar for Dummies back on the shelf across from him and had his knees up to his chin. He was watching Joe closely.

“I know you _really_ don’t want to put ice directly against your skin,” Joe replied as he tore the sleeve all the way off. He pushed the bag of ice in the middle and turned to Patrick. “It’s clean and I’ve been meaning to take those off anyway.” He flicked the other boy’s hat off his head and gently pressed the shirt wrapped bag on his eye.

Patrick brought his hand up to hold the ice against his face. While he was grateful to Joe for doing this, the other boy was pressing a _little_ too hard. His eye felt like it was going to pop into the back of its socket. “Um, thanks, Joe,” he muttered as he leaned back against the wall. “But, why?”

Joe reached for one of the advanced guitar books and pulled it off the shelf. “I’ve had a lot of experience with black eyes. Curly haired Jew, you know.” He tilted his head and raised his eyebrow at Patrick in a ‘you know what I mean’ way. “And if you get ice on it quickly, it’ll not take as long to heal. You’re going to need to look your best when you come to audition for Pete and me.” He casually flipped the book open to a random page and began reading.

“What?” Patrick said, pulling the ice off of his eye to lean towards Joe.

Joe reached over and pushed Patrick’s arm back up so the ice was back on his face. “Pete wants you to audition. And I think you should bring your acoustic.”

Patrick sat back, thinking about what Joe was proposing. “I’m not even close as good as you are, Joe. I’d rather audition on drums.”

“Nah, you really need to sing.”

Patrick sighed. “Okay, I’ll think about it.”

They fell into their usual after school chatter, talking about what bands were playing over the weekend and the new music that had come out that week. Two hours later, Patrick’s alarm went off on his phone. He turned it off and pulled the ice pack from his eye. “I’ve got to go,” he said. “How does it look? I can barely feel it.” He laughed, but was worried his mom would kill him for having a black eye.

Joe put up the book he was reading and looked up at his friend. “The swelling is gone and it’s mostly just a dull purple now. It’ll totally be gone by the weekend.”

Patrick stood and held his hand out to help up Joe. “Thanks,” he said again just as heartfelt as he had the first time.

Joe smiled back at him as he let Patrick help him stand. “Yeah, no problem. Just be ready to impress the fuck out of Pete, okay?”

A smile split Patrick’s face. “Yeah, I can do that.” And he would impress the fuck out of Pete, because that was his way of repaying Joe.


End file.
